Everyone knows that Santa’s really nice to kids, but what they don’t know is that he’s an absolute terror toward adults.

I knew this first-hand as the paunched-belly motherfucker pummeled my wife’s throat in front of me as if she wasn’t the woman I dedicated my entire life to. The woman I wanted to be the mother of my children. He sat on my favourite sofa while she was bent over, at his side, with her ass poking up and past her sundress’ hemline. To him, she was just a vessel toward my punishment. A punishment conducted with his naked, sweaty ass melding to my favourite goddamn… that son of a bitch.

As my wife went gluck-glark-glock on his fat cock, I sat erect – in both senses – and in wonderment as to what could’ve stirred his ire. At thirty-five years old and being married for ten of those years – also being naughty for most of my life, let’s be real here – I couldn’t understand why he chose then of all times to do this. He never gave a damn before, so why then?

He plucked my wife’s lips from his beef slab, and thick strands of viscous saliva drooped from her maw and over his engorged prick and swollen balls. “Honey, this is so fucking good. This is how I’ve been wanting you to fuck my fa–” He shoved her pretty head onto his vengeful dick again.

“Shut the fuck up and take this cock.”

And again, my better half’s throat cosplayed as a sink being plunged. I hated that she enjoyed it. I hated that he used her as a fucktoy, but most importantly, I hated that it turned me on so much.

Look, I always bypassed cuckolding videos when it came to porn I wanted to bust a fat nut to before I slept. Shit never sparked anything for me, but for some reason, seeing this jolly, old fuck using my demure wife in such a depraved fashion worked. Did the fucker know I had this dark desire? Was this his way of punishing me for being naughty?

What in the hell’s going on here?

Perverted Old St. Nick’s grip on my spouse’s blonde tresses tightened, and they flailed through his fingers as he gritted his teeth and growled, “I’m cumming, slut!”

Boy, did he.

The fucker’s eyes went as white as his rat’s nest of a beard, and his bellows and continued degradation made me wonder if this was Santa emptying his nuts down her gullet or fucking Krampus.

And goddammit, my dick was hard. My wife never looked so slutty. With every lurch he made into her head as he held it, her bloodshot eyes bulged, cheeks bloated, and the overflow of cum exploded through her nostrils and mouth in an obscene gloop over his cock and balls.

The Missus separated from the merry cunt, although thick, mucousy strings of jizz and throat glue still linked her nose and lips to his deflating dong. “Fuck yeah! That’s how you fucking do it!” Her widened eyes stared at me on that last statement, and I questioned where this debauched slut lay hidden for the past decade-plus. I mean, to be fair, I rarely tried to push her limits and always pigeon-holed my partner as a “nice girl” and thus had decent, respectful sex with her. However, before me, knelt on the couch at Santa’s side, with his semen and her saliva still flowing out of her gob was a mess of a sexily disgusting throat-whore.

Fuck, that was the most turned-on she made me in years. My family jewels churned with the need to empty into her, just like that big, red cunt.

“You don’t go anywhere,” Santa said, looking at me. He pulled up his pants and stepped aside, with his hand outstretched toward my wife as if presenting a new car on a lot. She bunched her sundress around her waist and rubbed her clitoris with great fury while saying some of the most outlandish things I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck yes, I’m a dirty fucking whore.” She continued rubbing, and fluids dangled from her chin, nose, and jawline and fell onto her sundress, discolouring the pastel with off-white Morse code. “I never knew I could be such a nasty slut. A filthy cum dumpster, oh fuck.”

Normally, I’d roll my eyes when women spoke like that in porno, but to see my sweetheart degrading herself like that strained my patience. I stood, took off my pants, and went to approach her with my painfully hard member when Santa stopped me.

“Do you know why this is happening?” the fat fuck asked.

“Oh, do we have to do this now?” I asked with my boner thrashing about and placing my hands akimbo. “Okay, why?”

“Remember what you told your brother and sister-in-law at this year’s Thanksgiving?”

“You’re gonna have to narrow it down.” My cum-stained wife continued in the background, now frigging her cunt with one hand and kneading her left tit with the other. “What did I say, wise guy?”

“Remember what you said about Christmas and the coming addition to their family?”

At that moment, my temple pulsed, and I groaned.

“That new life isn’t even here yet, and you’re already promising to ruin Christmas by telling them I’m not real.” He poked my chest.

“Hey, come on, I was joking.”

I wasn’t.

Don’t you dare give me that look. You’d do the same goddamn thing. I mean, what proof does anyone have of his existence, eh? I didn’t bloody believe it until he appeared in a multicoloured swirl of dust in front of my wife and I. She, of course, lost her shit because she’s a Christmas nut and awaited this confirmation for her entire life. They related to each other pretty well, but I should have known something was up when he was way colder to me than he was to her. Not to mention the eye contact between them. But come on, I had no reason to believe everything would go the way it did; I mean, it’s fucking Santa, for God’s sake! Anyhow, after thirty minutes of that nonsense, I grumbled and went into the kitchen when she asked me to get the wine. The next thing I knew, I heard gagging and rushed back out with the wine and glasses to see a cock pistoning into my love’s face and a pair of obese balls slapping against her jaw.

And no, I didn’t do the dramatic “drops items in hands upon seeing something shocking” thing. I put everything down gently; thank you very much.

It was so grotesque and vile that I couldn’t pull my gaze away, but I shook off the flashback and waited for Santa to say more, but he didn’t.

“So that’s it? You’re punishing me by… what?”

“Showing you that your wife is a highly-charged, sexual being and how inept you were at bringing that side out of her,” Santa said as wifey fell backward into the couch and bridged on her shoulders in several jerks as she cussed like a sailor while climaxing.

“And all because I told them that I was going to let their future kid know that you ain’t real? Well, whoop-de-do, I can see you are now. Happy?” I threw my hands into the air, and my penis started softening.

“Yes,” Santa said stoically.

“Jesus Christ, Santa, you’re pretty fucking hardcore, you know that?” I wrinkled my nose.

“No.” He pointed to my masturbating mate, who begged for more dick in her mouth. “Your wife’s hardcore.”

I stared at that motherfucker incredulously.

“Also, don’t mention Jesus’ name to me. We’re still not on speaking terms.”

This guy…

He jostled his belt into its original position, picked up his sack, and looked back and forth between my wife and me. Her updated screams were about her throat and cunt still being empty and cussing Santa and me for not filling either.

“Oh, by the way, the real punishment is that I’ve loosened your wife’s sexual inhibitions for the remainder of her life. So you’ll be getting some of what I did to her, but she’ll be giving herself to anyone else she desires as well.”

“You bastard.” I dimmed my eyes, reared back, and swung, but the douchebag teleported into a red-and-white puff, then tapped my shoulder from behind.

“You’ve just learned the most valuable lessons you ever will in your existence.”

With my head dipped, I turned, stared through my brow ridge, and grumbled, “What?”

“Be nice to others.” He raised an index finger.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever underestimate the woman you’re with.” He raised the second finger.

“And what’s the third?”

He disappeared into another red and white puff, and his voice echoed throughout the house:

“Don’t fuck with Santa.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.